


It Was the Tequila, Wasn't It?

by lanalucy



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Community: bsg_kink, Drunk Sex, F/M, Flirting, Kissing, Mistaken Identity, Public Sex, Texts From Last Night, self-delusion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-25
Updated: 2013-08-25
Packaged: 2017-12-24 13:41:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/940642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lanalucy/pseuds/lanalucy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Weekend Kink<br/>Prompt: textsfromlastnight - "I may not be his cup of tea, but I bet I'm his tenth shot of tequila."</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Was the Tequila, Wasn't It?

Ordinarily, she wouldn’t give a rip about an accent, but the timbre of his voice had sent shivers up her spine, and when she looked out the corner of her eye, well, she wasn’t blind, was she? The accent meant he wasn’t Lee Adama, Husker’s Kid, Apollo, also known as the star of her every sleeping and waking fantasy for the last much-too-long-to-mention. That meant she could indulge herself. She refused to be a frakkin’ Lee Adama groupie, but godsdamn did she want him.  
  
She signaled the barkeep, asked for a handful of shots, and sought the guy out, offering him half. However many shots later, they were in the back of her truck, his mouth working its way up to hers, spouting delightfully dirty things in that Aerilon accent. She groaned when he pushed into her, and some part of her deep inside sighed with an odd contentment.   
  
He was pumping and she was  _thisclose_  to coming, whispering  _frak_  and  _oh, gods_  and  _please_  and then he nibbled on her ear, told her, “Say my name, Kara. I want to hear you say my name.”  
  
 _What? He didn’t tell me his name. Annnnd, I didn’t tell him mine, either._  She pulled her legs tighter across his back, because whatever this was, she wasn’t making him stop, but she pushed his face away from hers and asked, “What name? I don’t remember exchanging names.”  
  
He looked hurt, if that were possible. “All the flirting I’ve done and you don’t remember my name?” He sounded disgusted, more with himself than with her, and the Aerilon accent had given way to the blandness of Caprica. “So much for the Adama powers of persuasion.”  
  
“Frak.” He looked at her quizzically. “I’ve spent the last year and a half successfully suppressing the urge to rip your clothes off every time I see you, and in the end, all it takes for you to get into my pants is a frakkin' accent? How’d you do that, anyway?”  
  
He grinned at her. “My best friend growing up was from Aerilon. I got pretty good at mimicking his accent. Never thought it would do me any good.”  
  
He moved to ease the strain of staying still and she closed her eyes, pulled at his back with her fists. “Gods. Please.”  
  
“You want me to keep going?”   
  
“Frak, yes, I want you to keep going, you idiot! But stop talking.” She kept her eyes closed. Pretending was easier that way.  
  
He sucked on her jaw. “You really want me to shut up, or…” a little flick of his tongue at her lips, “you want me to keep talking?” And that Aerilon accent was back.   
  
“Oh, frak. Gods. Yes, Keep talking. Please, keep talking,” she begged.  
  
So he talked and kissed and frakked her. When she whispered his name into his ear as she came, he thought he’d never heard anything so erotic in his life, and he lost his coordination on the last few strokes. He couldn’t resist one more comment in his accent, “It was that last shot of tequila, wasn’t it?”  
  
Kara laughed, her insides clamping around him. “Definitely that last shot of tequila. Want another round?”


End file.
